


Knockin' Boots

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Final season feels, Fluff, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Misha's Hips, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 08:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: Castiel has new footwear.Jensen really, really likes the way they look on Misha.





	Knockin' Boots

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been awhile! I've been in up to my ears in my DeanCas Big Bang fic for this year - watch for it to drop October 25th! I'm super excited about this one.
> 
> Meanwhile, here's a bit of Cockles to tide you over. Inspired by [Castiel's new boots](https://twitter.com/mishacollins/status/1177396941962936320?s=20) with some final-season feels sprinkled in. 
> 
> Also I want to stress that although this is a PWP and involves those totally sexy, awesome new boots, this isn't a leather kink/boot kink fic explicitly, which is why it's not tagged as such. The boots are a catalyst, basically.

“Nice Boots.”

“Hmm? Oh.” Misha looks over as Jensen enters his trailer without knocking. He offers a peck on the lips in greeting, then gives a crooked smile to play off the compliment. “They’re… medicinal.”

Jensen, bless him, does that adorable thing he does when he’s confused - one eyebrow furrowed, one quirked, lips slightly turned down. Misha wants to kiss it right off him. “Huh?”

“I, uh. It’s so I don’t have to bend over as much to tie them.” It’s an instinctive movement, but he rubs his right hip with his fingers and winces, and that gets the message across well enough.

“Good,” is all Jensen says, and he nods. Then his eyes are downcast again, focused on the boots. “Still look good, though, Mish. Like. Real good.” The other man takes a small step forward, closing what little distance there is between them.

Misha inhales deeply, eyes closed, taking in the smell and feel of Jensen. Hands settle on his hips, and Misha hums approvingly. “You like my new boots, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Jensen breathes, and Misha opens his eyes just in time to catch the other man licking his lips. 

“You got a kink I don’t know about?”

“I mean…” Jensen’s blushing now; he’s ducking his head the way he does when he gets shy, and it just increases his attractiveness tenfold.

Jensen’s hands are still on Misha’s hips, and Misha lifts his own hands now and circles them around Jensen’s waist to hold him loosely. He bumps his nose into Jensen’s, and then they’re kissing: Small, slightly open-mouthed kisses and nuzzling of noses. Misha feels the smile in Jensen’s face and he smiles back, in between soft, lazy kisses. His hands tighten at Jensen’s back and he murmurs, “How much time do we have?”

“Not enough,” comes the reply, the way it’s come more often now, because they both know it has a double meaning and they’re not going to talk about it. Not yet. Not right now. “They’re resetting,” Jensen clarifies instead, voice low and in his chest, rumbling out against Misha’s own. “Probably 20 minutes, then it’s my coverage. Your first scene is after lunch.”

Misha hums approval and goes back to kissing like they have infinitely more time than that, like they can afford to stay here all day and just be slow and take their time taking each other apart.

They don’t, and they can’t, of course. And as much as Misha wants to say “I’ll appreciate when we can take as long with this as we want,” he doesn’t, because he has no idea if he’d rather have Jensen all the time for short periods, or once a month for a whole weekend.

He just really  _ doesn’t know _ .

He suspects the feeling is mutual, but he doesn’t know that either, because they don’t talk about April yet. They can’t. It’s like touching an exposed nerve: There’s too much pain there. Better to leave it be, for now. Hope that time heals it enough that it can be touched and talked about.

Instead, Misha addresses something he  _ can  _ do something about: Jensen’s belt. It’s much too in the way. He untucks the other man’s shirt and fumbled blindly with the belt buckle until it’s loose, then opens it all the way and goes for the fly. When it’s open, he pushes Dean’s jeans down with both hands and then cups Jensen’s ass through his boxer briefs and squeezes both sides in tandem.

Jensen whimpers against his lips, and Misha swallows the sound before chasing it back to its source with his tongue. 

In reality, he’s stalling just a little. Jensen really likes his boots, and Misha wants to work that in somehow, but he doesn’t have any sort of foot or boot or leather fetish at  _ all _ . It really doesn’t do it for him, and neither does degradation — that’s a no-go on both of their lists, for sure — so he’s not about to initiate any sort of boot-licking fantasy. No way, no how.

“Tell me what you like about them,” he says at last, as he places his right palm against Jensen’s chest and uses that to guide Jensen back to a sitting position on the couch.

“It’s, um. It’s not the boots, specifically,” Jensen begins as Misha gets to his knees, using the edge of the couch for support as he settles into position. Then he takes Jensen’s half-hard dick out of his dark grey boxer briefs and starts dancing nimble fingers over it, trying to wake it the rest of the way up.

“No?”

“No, it’s— Jesus, Mish!” Jensen hisses and bucks as Misha ducks his head to lick the bead of precome off the head.

“No Jesus. It’s just me, Gorgeous.” Jensen whines, and Misha tickles his balls in response, drawing another hiss and buck of the hips from Jensen. “Keep talking. You stop talking, I stop playing.”

“It’s,” Jensen’s breath comes in pants as he struggles for composure. “It’s  _ you  _ in the boots, Mish, it’s the way you—fuck—it’s just—so— FUCK!” Misha smiles around his mouthful of dick, humming and running his tongue up the shaft the way he knows Jensen likes. But when the words stop coming, Misha pulls up to the head, pops off, and kisses the tip before fixing Jensen with an expectant gaze.

“Yeeesss?”

Jensen stares at him in silence for a long time. So long, in fact, that Misha wonders if maybe he pushed too far. But then Jensen squares his jaw, and there’s something telling in his eyes and the gravel of his tone that has Misha enraptured, hanging on every word, too stunned to return to his task. “I can imagine you walking across the floor in them,” Jensen begins, eyes focused, unblinking, like he hadn’t just been getting a blowjob. “I bet they click, all authoritative-like, with every step. Those boots, Castiel’s shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and those eyes of yours? Damn, Misha, I can picture you leaning over me and kissing me filthy and taking me apart, and that’s the first thing I thought of when I walked in and saw you in those things. ‘S gonna be all I can think of on set.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow and he finally tears his eyes away.

Misha’s mouth opens and closes a few times on an unformed verbal response. Finally, he leans forward and places a series of small, reverent kisses to Jensen’s thighs, his hips, his belly… and then to his dick. The erection has waned a bit, but it perks back up at Misha’s contact. 

Misha swathes the head with his tongue before going back down all the way, hands petting up and down Jensen’s thighs as he works his tongue and mouth around the hardness. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he gushes, barely above a whisper when he finally pulls off. “So beautiful.”

“Gonna be so—so fucking hard to keep my hands off you.”

“Mmmmmm.” Misha scrapes his teeth along the shaft, just a little, and Jensen hisses and bucks again. Misha pulls off and looks up at him, one eyebrow cocked. He knows what this look does to Jensen, and he pulls no punches, his left hand tightening around the base of Jensen’s dick. “Unless I order you,” he says, lifting both brows now. “Should I make it an order, Jensen? Tell you you’re not allowed to touch me on set,  _ in my boots _ , unless the script calls for it?”

“Oh fuck. I. Fuck.” 

“I wonder how long…” He mouths at Jensen’s shaft again while rolling his balls in his left hand and holding the base of Jensen’s dick with his right. “I think it would be an interesting experiment,” he tells Jensen’s dick before swallowing it down again.

There’s no stopping after that, no pausing for insight or playful jabs. There’s just Misha, lavishing affection on Jensen’s erection in the way they both know is going to get him off. 

When Jensen comes, it’s silent, hands clenching the couch, eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth parted on a moan or a scream that doesn’t come out. 

Misha tries to lift himself to join Jensen on the couch, after, but he can’t do it without Jensen’s help, and Jensen knows that. The hands come out to help as if on reflex, and Misha braces against them to get to a half-standing position before collapsing beside Jensen, jeans still at his ankles, dick softening against his stomach. It looks ridiculous.  _ They  _ look ridiculous.

But then Jensen’s eyes flit down to Misha’s boots, and then to Misha’s eyes, and he licks his lips, and it’s not ridiculous anymore.

It’s perfect.

“It would be an interesting experiment,” Misha repeats softly, eyes wide with meaning.

“Wouldn’t it?” Jensen leans in for a kiss, just soft, all lips, and brief, and then he pulls away, eyes shining. “Love you,” he breathes.

“So much,” Misha returns with a minute shake of his head in wonder.

Jensen looks at him with a fond smile for another long moment, and then stands before reaching a hand down to help Misha to his feet. When they’re both standing, Jensen tucks himself away and Misha helps him smooth out wrinkles in Dean Winchester’s wardrobe. 

He grabs his phone, preparing to pocket it, but an idea flashes across his mind and he hands it to Jensen instead. “You should take a picture,” he says, flashing what he knows is the wolfish grin of a man with plans.

“Of?” It’s a grunt, more Dean than Jensen, like doing up the wardrobe again has him already flitting back to that mindset. It’s something Misha understands well.

“My boots,” Misha supplies, grin softening a bit as Jensen does the adorable confused thing again. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

Jensen shrugs and shakes his head, then takes Misha’s phone and gets down on the floor. The camera cycles a couple of times and then Jensen pops back up with a lot less effort than it would have taken Misha to get that shot and stand back up, and returns the phone.

Misha reviews the two identical pictures, pretending to be indecisive for a moment before selecting one and sending it to Jensen. “A little something to remember me by,” Misha quips, and then leans in for a kiss. This one is more filthy, a bit teeth nipping at Jensen’s lower lip, a bit of a fondle of Jensen’s ass. When their mouths part, Jensen speaks into the small space between them. “Why do I feel like I’m going to live to regret that?”

Misha just laughs, and there’s a knock at the trailer door. “Ackles, zip up!”

Jared. “Better timing than most days,” Misha offers with a shrug.

They kiss one last time, and then Jensen’s out the door, back to work.

Alone, Misha turns to face his empty trailer. His fingers drum on the countertop in his kitchenette as he tried to remember what he was doing before Jensen came in. His eyes scan the trailer slowly until they inevitably focus on the pill bottle he’d set near the sink.

Oh. Yeah.

He palms the bottle, eyes settling on the label.  _ Naproxen _ ,  _ 375MG tablets _ , it reads.  _ Krushnic, Dimitri. Take one capsule by mouth twice daily _ .

His right hip, especially, is killing him, but it’s too soon. He needs this with him for the evening dose because he knows they’ll be filming tonight until it’s technically tomorrow.

He knows getting down on his knees for Jensen did him no favors, just now. He knows his job is the same, pushing his body in a way it doesn’t want to be pushed anymore. He knows, he knows, he knows.

But when it’s over, he’ll wish he had it back. He knows that, too.

He can’t take the pills and he’s not due on set for a couple of hours. Makeup trailer in one, probably, and then lunch.

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, and then moves to the center of his trailer and begins a slow, stretching sun salute.

It stretches and centers him, mind and body, in all the best ways.

**Author's Note:**

> I knooooowwww it looks like that pic of Misha's foot was probably taken outside on blacktop. I took creative liberties for the sake of porn and I have no regrets. :)


End file.
